


Light Strikes a Deal

by replicasex



Series: Hat AUs [9]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Power Exchange, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 22:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/replicasex/pseuds/replicasex
Summary: Smith always makes sure Ross gets what he needs.





	Light Strikes a Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Will you say to me when I'm gone  
> "Your face has faded but lingers on  
> Because light strikes a deal with each coming night"
> 
> \-- Samuel Ervin Beam

Rain lashed the windows and wind screamed and howled outside Smith’s flat.  It had been storming for hours and would storm for hours more.  Smith had set out candles, little pinpricks of light set out against the darkness.  Just in case, he thought, but he enjoyed the way the flickering light made shadows play across the wall.  His fingers picked sweet and sure across the buzzing strings of his guitar.  He was only amusing himself, with no real tune in his mind.  He loved the way it felt, the vibrations echoing underneath his skin.

The loud screech of his phone startled him out of his reverie.  He put down his guitar and looked at his phone.  It was four in the morning in the middle of the worst storm of the year.  He started again to see that it was Ross.

“Hello,” Smith said.  

“Smith,” Ross sounded tired and strung out.  “Smith, I’m.  Uh, I’m outside the flat.”  There was a moment of silence.  Smith could not hear the storm outside through the phone, which meant that Ross was cradling it to protect it from the downpour. 

“I’ll buzz you in,” Smith said, and ended the phone call. 

He moved fast to let Ross in the building.  He spared a glance for the state of his flat.  But Ross wouldn’t care, and had seen worse.  Smith unlocked his door and left it open by a hair.  He could already hear Ross coming up the stairs.

The shadows shifted across the door as Ross walked in, looking wet and miserable.  He was as hesitant now as he had been the first time he had asked Smith to give him what he needed.  It was a fear that Smith had always hoped to lay to rest, for all that they never spoke of it outside the walls of his flat. 

Smith fetched a towel and handed it to Ross.  Their hands touched for a moment and Smith felt a chill race through him.  He went to the thermostat and let the furnace kick on; at least until Ross was dry. 

“Thanks,” Ross said. 

He was still half drenched and sounded as strung out as he had on the phone.  Smith said nothing.  He had learned early on that it was better if Ross asked for what he needed.  Ross looked at his shoes, eyes blank.  Eventually he seemed to come back to himself and his eyes were dark and hooded in the shimmering candlelight. 

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Ross said quietly.  “I need you.”

Smith walked towards him and let his hands cup the back of his neck.  He carded his hands through Ross’ hair and tugged it backwards so Ross would meet his eyes. 

“Okay,” Smith said.  “Let’s get you dry first.” 

Smith helped Ross out of his jacket first and then his shirt.  He got another towel and helped rub down Ross’ wet hair and back.  Ross put up his wet shoes besides the door and looked to Smith again for permission.  It made Smith smile as he nodded and Ross removed his jeans and folded them neatly on the floor. 

“Let’s sit on the couch,” Smith said, more than a suggestion as he lead the way.  He sat heavily next to his guitar and patted the space beside him.  Ross sat down beside him, awkward in his underwear.  He was fidgety in normal circumstances but now he was practically spastic.  Smith would see to that soon enough. 

Smith hooked an arm around Ross’ bare shoulders and held him until the fidgeting slowed and then finally stopped. 

“Are you alright?” Smith asked.  He could feel his own heat radiating out into Ross as his arm held him to stillness. 

“Yes,” Ross said.  “Or – no worse than normal, anyway.” 

“So nothing happened to …” Smith started. 

“No.  No, it’s just … it’s just been awhile.”  Ross said off to the side.  He was never comfortable with talking beforehand but Smith always insisted. 

“It’s been weeks,” Smith agreed, tightening his embrace for a moment.  “Is it ok if we stay on the couch?  It’s long enough for you to stretch out.” 

“That’s fine,” Ross looked relieved that the conversation had come to an end. 

Smith stood his guitar beside the couch and moved to the middle of the couch.  Ross stood before him, hunched over himself.  He looked to Smith for permission again and found it in his eyes.  Before he could drape himself across Smith’s lap he’s stopped by Smith’s arm. 

“Ross,” Smith said.  “You’re forgetting something.” 

And Smith’s hands delicately touched the elastic of Ross’ underwear.  Smith felt the heat of Ross’ blush above him.  But Ross himself had asked, begged, to be without them and had always sulked if they were left on.  Smith helped tug the boxers down around Ross’ ankles and Ross stepped out of them, dainty for such a large man.   

Ross draped himself across Smith’s lap quickly after that, afraid of other delays.  It took a few moments for them to settle comfortably.  Smith had always set his hips wide, for stability as much as to preserve Ross’ boundaries.  Smith had never been asked to touch Ross anywhere else and he wasn’t about to violate his friend’s wishes.  Ross’ cock lay comfortably between Smith’s legs, undisturbed.  Sometimes it would stiffen and rub against the inside of his legs and sometimes it would stay completely soft through the whole session. 

When Smith’s hands finally touched him, Ross began to tremble once more.  Smith worked both hands together to knead and massage his glutes. He rubbed as much tension out of them as he could.  Ross would need to be relaxed for what came next. 

“We’re going to start slow,” Smith said.  “I want you to count with me, ok?”

“Ok.”  Ross whispered into the couch cushions. 

Smith hunches over Ross for a moment and kisses his coccyx, his own little apology. But Ross would not thank him for his gentleness and it was not gentleness that he needed now.   

The first smack rang out loudly in the hushed living room.  Smith could see the orange flickering light of the candles sway across Ross’ back and onto his reddening ass. 

“One,” Ross called out softly.  He had already relaxed again in preparation of the next strike.  Smith struck out again on the same cheek, savoring the stinging in his own hands.  It was the only part of this he would carry the next day. 

Ross called the second strike and soon they found a rhythm that was only just tolerable for him.  Ross would roll and shiver in Smith’s lap but he never made any attempt to escape the harsh spanking.  When Smith reached 15, Ross’ voice was full of tears.  But none had spilled from his eyes.  Smith dug his free arm into Ross’ shoulder, grounding him and began to strike with all his strength. 

At 25, Ross burst into tears.  They came, finally, like a river breaking its dam.  Ross cried and moaned in Smith’s lap, shuddering from the pain that soared through him.  Smith’s own hand would be sore for hours afterwards but it was nothing like the pain Ross would feel. 

As Smith felt the sting in his fingers he remembered the buzzing of the strings as his fingers moved across his guitar and it seemed to him that he had played Ross as much as he had ever played any guitar and the sounds Ross made were just as sweet and beautiful.  A private instrument for his own hand. 

“I’ve got you,” Smith said as he ran his free hand down Ross’ spine.  “You’re here, I’m right here with you.” 

Without jostling him, Smith scrounged between the cushions of his couch and found the lotion he had stashed there weeks ago.  Smith applied the lotion gently and then settled himself down the length of the couch beside Ross.  He was still crying but the worst had passed as Smith was applying his lotion. 

Smith closed his arms around Ross and guided his head into the crook of his neck.  Smith kissed the crown of his head. 

“Hey,” Smith said.  Ross had gotten his breathing under control and snuffled into his neck. 

“Hi,” Ross said.  His arms had come around to hold Smith as well and his eyes were full of tears.  “T-thank you.” 

“Shhh,” Smith hushed.  “Get some sleep.”   

Smith watched as Ross fell to sleep in stages, the guttering light of the dying candles throwing warm orange light across the naked man in his arms.  He thought of the strangeness of his life and the people in it and in his own sleepy thoughts he considered that there was nothing at all that he would ever want changed. 


End file.
